


The Rock Upon Which I Stand

by gmusto19



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bookstores, Conversations, Crossover, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Love, Love Confessions, Multi, Tea, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 04:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gmusto19/pseuds/gmusto19
Summary: While in Paris, Aziraphale meets the infamous Anne Lister and discover that each of them harbors a secret love they struggle to express.





	The Rock Upon Which I Stand

1832, Paris

He saw her browsing outside a bookshop along le Rue de Rivoli. Her figure was striking - tall, assured, with hair curled tightly in coils above her ears and a bun at the back of her head. Clad entirely in black, she was all angles and swagger, reminding Aziraphale deeply of someone back in England. Someone he shouldn’t be thinking about. Someone who kept trying to leave him chocolates at the bookshop. 

Aziraphale flushed and pushed the thoughts away. No. He wasn’t going to think of Crowley today. He had come here, on his own, to search for certain collectable books and perhaps enjoy a crepe (or two. Or five). Not to think of his adversary. Although the last time he’d been in Paris, he’d been here with the demon who - 

“No,” Aziraphale whispered to himself. Not today. He approached the woman, realizing something else was familiar about her. She’d been in the same shop as him, not long ago, when he’d made a trip to track down a particular book for his collection.

“Excuse me, madame,” Aziraphale said. “Are you not the woman who bought a book of common prayer from a shop in Halifax a few weeks hence? I was there myself and I… recall seeing you.”

The woman turned and surveyed him, a serious and fatigued look hanging about her eyes. “Yes, I do believe it was I. But you gave me at a surprise - I’m afraid I don’t recall you.”

“I am another bookseller. Mr. Fell,” Aziraphale gave a little bow to her. “I was visiting the shop for a - a particular volume. I do hope your recipient enjoyed the book. It was a most striking edition.”

“Thank you,” the woman replied. “The recipient… the recipient is not well and I fear it alone has not consoled her. But it has become very dear to her, I have been told.”

“I am glad to hear it. I hope the lady in question recovers. Is she a relation of yours?”

“No. A… dear friend.”

The way she said that word, “friend,” something in Aziraphale’s mind became clear. Her tone belied something much greater than friendship, something more than what was expected between two women. Aziraphale knew the feeling - only his was towards an eternal enemy. 

“I understand,” he said. “I too have a very dear friend. One whom I’m afraid I find it’s difficult to be… close to, with the way the world is.”

“I see,” the woman cocked her head at him. “Perhap I could treat you to an early lunch, Mr. Fell. I would like very much to learn more about your friend. It would ease my mind and distract me from my own troubles.”

“I would like that very much, Miss -?”

“Lister.” She stuck out a genteel gloved hand. “Anne Lister. Of Shibden Hall in Halifax.”

Aziraphale shook her hand firmly. “I am most honored to make your acquaintance.”

*****  
Years later - and even decades later - Aziraphale would marvel at the fact that he had met the infamous so called “Gentleman Jack” of Halifax. Crowley never quite believed that he’d managed to receive letters from both Lister and Oscar Wilde (but then again, Aziraphale always presumed that Crowley was jealous of Azirphale’s hobnobbing, given that Crowley had chosen to sleep through the better part of the 19th century). 

“It’s all about timing, my dear,” Aziraphale assured him. “Right place, right time. I just happened to run into her again and then, before I knew it, we were having tea.”

At the time of tea with Miss Lister, Aziraphale was doing his damnedest - his blessedest - his best to avoid thinking of Crowley. Of course, he’d utterly failed because Miss Lister demanded to know everything about him. 

Anne Lister was nothing if not persuasive. She was smart and cunning and had a way with words that struck even Aziraphale as imposing and sublime. 

“This friend of yours,” she said, filling her tea cup. “How did you meet?”

“Well, it was an awful long time ago. In a garden. He was… well, he was meant to be my competitor. But we struck a deal. An alliance, I suppose. Instead, we would help each other with one another’s tasks.”

“Business associates then?”

“I suppose you could say that. The more time I spent around him, though, the more I… well, I began to like him. Admire him, I suppose. He was supposed to be a demon but he wasn’t really a demon at all. He’s rather… well, nice. Kind, in his way.”

“I see. I feel we are in quite similar positions, Mr. Fell.” Lister set her teacup down and considered him. “You see, I went back to my family’s estate fleeing from heartbreak. But while in Halifax, I met a young lady - Miss Ann Walker. She struck me in a way that no one has before. I feel I can be honest with you, Mr. Fell, and that you will be discreet, if I were to tell you I loved the young lady and wished for her to be my wife.”

Aziraphale studied her. Though the masque of her face was calm and severe, her eyes told a different story. There was pain, desire, hope, and misery all at once. The tempest of the sea had no comparison to the storm that was brewing in Lister’s mind. 

“You can trust me,” Aziraphale told her. “I do believe perhaps we have more in common than an appreciation for decorative books. I… I believe that my associate and I… well, we’ve grown closer after so many years of working together and… it would seem… There was a time when it was clear to me that if I had to choose between Heaven without him and Earth with him, I knew clearly. But I do not have that clarity anymore.”

“Perhaps you’ll gain a different kind of clarity.” Lister filled her plate with tea sandwiches and gave Aizraphale a shrewd, dark smile. “Tell me more about this associate of yours. What is he like?”

“Well,” Aziraphale and froze. How in the world could he possibly describe Crowley? “He’s somewhat impossible. That is… impossible to describe. He’s got an acerbic wit and a cool smoothness to him. But also this fiery intensity. He’s like a bit of obsidian forming in lava.”

“A geology metaphor. I approve. But I must say, Mr. Fell, I’ve never heard one man describe another quite that way before. It would seem that you are much… attuned to his details.”

“I rather suppose I am. I have spent enough time around him. I mean, we keep the same company. There aren’t many like us, I think.”

“Indeed. There are not many like Miss Walker and I either. Which is why she is so precious to me. Well then, if he is a sort of rock, what kind are you?”

“Oh, certainly something rather soft. Pumice, maybe. Or shale. Perhaps soapstone.”

“And what would I be?”

“Granite. Steady. Strong. Striking.”

“I believe you give me too much credit.”

“Not at all. I admire you - your style and your disregard for popular custom.”

Lister laughed. “I hide my actual regard - I can assure you I care greatly what people think. But I live my life this way because it is who I am. Living any other way would be a great evil to myself.”

“That is marvelous. I certainly hope that others choose to follow in your footsteps.”

“What an incredible world that would be.”

“Indeed it would.” Aziraphale studied her. “I can tell from the look in your eyes that you have been through a great hardship and yet you bear it well. Tell me what has happened to your lady love. If I could be of some help, I would like to be.”

“I doubt it,” Lister sighed. “She has forsaken me, out of fear of being persecuted and punished for her affection and passions. She was already strained due to grief and fear and… this pressure broke her mind. She is in Scotland now, growing stronger, I hope. But I have not heard from her in sometime. Her sister has written me before and… it has been many weeks since I have heard from her.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” Aziraphale replied. “It must be difficult for you, to be seperated from her not… not due to lack of love but… fear of it.”

Aziraphale felt his face flush slightly. How many times had he been afraid of his own feelings towards Crowley? How often had he tried to avoid the demon, only to be drawn into meeting him, despite what Heaven might say at how close they were becoming? How often had he argued with himself and questioned his own motives for the agreement with the demon, only to feel tormented for feeling more aligned with Crowley than his own celestial cohort?

“Are you well, sir?” Lister asked him.

“Oh. Yes. I believe… I’ve just realized that your lady love and I may have more than a few things in common. I am… I am not strong under pressure. I’m soft. My side of affairs would be disappointed - more than disappointed, enraged - if I were to show I cared about the enemy. But I do care for him. Deeply. It is a feeling that lingers and burns, no matter how much I try to suppress it. And yet it is easier for me to hide it, evade it, than ever tell him.”

Lister gave him a sad look. “What a pair we are. Granite and soapstone. And neither of our hearts in a place that fairs us well. It causes me much grief to see her denounce what is between us and, while all decisions are up to her now… I am unable to let her go. Ann Walker is the rock upon which I stand. And I shall stand by her until the end of the world.”

Aziraphale raised his teacup to her. “I hope that one day I will do the same as you.”

*****  
At the end of tea, Aziraphale exchanged addresses with Lister, giving her the address for his bookshop, imploring her to visit if ever she was in need of a unique book. Lister gave him both the address for where she was headed in Copenhagen as well as her address in Halifax, should he contact once her travels came to an end. 

“It is rare that I meet a gentleman like you, and one who is interested in conversing with me, especially on such topics,” Lister admitted. “I do hope that we will meet again. And I hope that your dear friend is well, wherever he may be.”

“Thank you. I do believe speaking with you has given me the courage to write to him. It has been a long time since we have spoken. Quite a long time indeed.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, trying not too hard to think of the last time he had seen Crowley (standing outside the shop, chocolates in hand, while Aziraphale navigated a conversation with Gabriel inside the shop). “And I do hope your Miss Walker’s condition improves. Perhaps… perhaps she will have a change of… well, not heart, but confidence. I rather think if she has gone this far - well, perhaps the right words at the right moment will console her.”

“I do hope you are right.” Lister shook Aziraphale’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Fell. You have been a great comfort in an otherwise melancholy journey.” 

“And you have been a great comfort to me as well.” Aziraphale watched her walk down the street, her hat perched jauntily on her head and coat billowing in the wind. There was something most remarkable about her. It made him feel proud and inspired to see her stride away, carving away her place in the world. Perhaps, just perhaps, his - friendship, for lack of a better word (or a refusal for him to acknowledge any other), between him and Crowley was not so impossible. If humans could remake themselves in the way such as Anne Lister, then anything was certainly possible, far beyond what Heaven and Hell might have planned.

“But it will all end one day,” a small voice in his mind muttered. “One day it will all be gone and you will have to fight against Crowley and all of Hell because it is your lot in life.”

“But why?” Aziraphale whispered. “Why end it? When there is so much more on Earth than Heaven can ever know.” 

He was resolved - he would talk to Crowley. Maybe… maybe there was hope beyond what he knew. Perhaps Crowley was his friend. More than a friend. Perhaps Heaven would be understanding. Perhaps… perhaps he really could stand beside Crowley on this giant spinning rock and face what was to come. Just the two of them. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> When I got to the scene in “Gentleman Jack” where Anne Lister goes to the bookshop and buys the prayer book for Ann Walker, I knew I had to write this. My summer is nothing but “Good Omens” and “Gentleman Jack” and I’m thrilled about it. I’m thinking about writing a few other little crossovers with Lister, Aziraphale, Crowley, and Anne Walker, so stay tuned.


End file.
